


Bodies Die, Not Love

by SabyAmerica



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:33:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabyAmerica/pseuds/SabyAmerica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sherlock Holmes letter to John Watson, lovely letter, yet sherlock-y</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bodies Die, Not Love

Promise me you won’t be missing me. Promise me you won’t call my name, and try to turn back time, because that can’t be done. Please, promise me you will bury me with your words, the words of a love story. And promise me one last thing. You will move on. You will burn me out of your heart, as I’ve been burned out of this world, without faith or believe. Nothing is what you think it ought to be, and I think you will have to learn that in the hardest of ways. You will feel betrayed, you will damn the day we met, you will for many days not speak of me, not mention my name and you will then regret those days and damn yourself for what you didn’t say. You will realize the truth, and the blue eyes that once glowed of thrill and happiness, will be filled with salty tears, that you will hide in rainy days, keep in sunny mornings and unleash on dark nights. The story we’ve written will vanish, if I do what I propose myself to, and your mind will be free, so will your heart, your long waiting heart. The breath taking hours I will rest beneath your feet, beneath the city that once made me run, brightened my day with its many sides, made me fall with whom I had never expected, and unplugged my heartbeat, that you started, all by yourself. 

Before something happened I wanted to make a note. I don’t write to anyone. Not even to mummy, although I think she would appreciate, as she as always said “You’ve always had a good sense with words, darling”, but I used to think she only said that because I always sounded like…well anything but a 10-year-old. As I was remembering the day I first saw you, my chest felt empty and robbed. You did that. You might’ve not been guilty of many in life, but one thing be sure, Dr. Watson, you are guilty as charged of creating any sentiment inside of this body of mine, and turning it back to dust in only a few short period of time. No one else could understand how quickly my eyes met yours, how in my head my life fast forward with you and your sweet smile by my side, how hard I felt down and surrender to you, only you.

I want you to always remember me as what you always saw me as. The sleepless nights, where we were engaged into each other’s arms, as you were stroking me, and my yelling’s had to be smothered by your lovely hands, and as you were finished and I was indulged in the pleasure the endorphins in my brain supplied, your lips would reach mine, and all the outside world could provide to be stored in my head, was as if blocked. I didn’t believe it the first time, but your kisses had that power in me, they could erase the world outside of our bedroom. I would climb onto you, your left shoulder would always be fletched back, because you thought your war scar made you imperfect, and imperfection would not be accepted by me, but it made you perfect. You were everything I could never be. You had fought for your country, and you were made to nurture others, I was made to inflict others into careful thoughts of how I had the answer to all their questions. 

I need you to hang on, to not question love, for it can happen in any situation with anyone, and I am the living, now dead, proof of that experiment. I have made myself into an experiment, but don’t you for one second doubt my feelings for you. I had never lied in that topic, I have always been courteous and direct towards you, and not once have I questioned the truth or the base of us. We have been right from the first moment, I am certain we have.

Cherish my skull, please. Take as many of my personal belongings as you feel necessary, but you won’t make me live through you, John. You mustn’t. I still felt your hand in the back of my neck in the loneliest nights, I felt yours perfectly stated words rushing into my ears, and I would immediately sit on the bed and twist my head around, like a dog looking for something, trying to smell it. I dreamed of you, every night. My mornings were nothing without you beside me. When I woke up I knew you were there, just waiting for me to wake up and gaze at you while you slept. You could tell when I was doing that, and you will make that little smirk smile, and I would throw my head into your wounded shoulder, at the beginning of everything, when neither of us knew what we were doing, you would push me away from it and say “No, Sherlock”, but time went by and you realized I could take you, with everything you brought with you, as you did with me. My heart felt serene. My hands were enlaced in yours, and nirvana was a few inches within my reach. 

I apologize for my behavior. I should have never kept this hidden from you. The way I survived the fall, and how I managed to unwind Moriarty’s web worldwide. I have told you all I know, which now doesn’t feel like enough. All the dreams you’ve had over time, about me, with me, they haven’t been dreams. I have sneaked into our flat on Baker Street occasionally, because it is physically impossible for me to be away from you. My brother told me you saw them as dreams, and asked me if that’s what they really were. He had a slight hunch you couldn’t be having such vivid dreams, and as you know the Holmes’s brothers are rarely wrong, and this was no exception. I slept with you while you were ill, and you never left my sight, as the streets of London have my eyes scattered around their pacific monotony. Deep down I knew you knew about this. You could feel it, but you thought you were just driving yourself insane. Well my love, you have not. You were right, I never left your side, and not even death can withdraw that from my hands, of that I can assure you.

And if you have gotten this far in my letter, please do take another thing in consideration. I love you. I have always loved you, John, since the moment my blue in sighted eyes have caught your adorable smile and trustful personality. I hope you don’t find this to be another love letter, because it isn’t. I don’t want to remind you of me or of us, I just can’t allow you to forget it either, its selfish of me, but I secretly hope you never do forget me.   
Now I must be on my way, and I repeat myself: I love you John Watson, with every breathing cell in me, and don’t even for a second, let your beautiful mind believe otherwise. 

Also believe me to be, as time goes by, sincerely yours

Sherlock Holmes


End file.
